Hateful Hands
by SocialOutcastGirl
Summary: Edward watches Kim from his attic room, until she is with another man. Very tragic.


Every day I watched her. Her glistening blonde hair as she stepped out of cars, as she fumbled for her keys at the door.  
  
("Do you have a key?" "No.") Yet the door opened.  
  
Once, very long ago, she had made the mistake of misplacing them again. She was alone, without Jim by her side, and she finally just sat down on the porch and sighed. I watched her hang her head as she waited for Peg to come home. But before she slumped, I caught her clearly look my way, up at the castle where she knew I was. It was only for a moment, and I couldn't see her that clearly, but I knew she could see me as faintly as I could see her. A dark outline against the darkness of my stone room behind me. Hers a pastel outline against the paleness of her pastel paradise. We were different, for she was the sun, and I was the coldness. She then looked down, and I could only hope that she was reflecting on memories, as I was. But I didn't turn away. I never do, until she is out of sight.  
  
Today was a bright one, as usual. I stood at the hole that I had once taken out of the roof, watching the suburbs. I still remember when I created that hole. I had wanted a better view of the neighborhood below. I was young and unreasonable, just as any child is to be. Just as any human child. But I wasn't human.  
  
Coming out of a black van with flames, the same one that almost hurt Kevin, appeared her. Kim. She was older then when we had last spoken, the fateful night in which she told me that she loved me, and never returned, although I always waited. However, I had watched her grown. It has been three years that I have lived alone up here. I didn't count years. Instead, I counted how many times I have seen a Christmas Tree in the Bogg's window. I sculpted her still, her changes, her growth. Her change in appearance that was so apparent to me. Forever frozen in ice, memories, and her beauty. I was about to sculpt her again when she came out of the van, I was just waiting for her to go inside, as I said earlier, I never turn away. But this time, I noticed, someone was with her. A man. He looked just a bit older then her, was tan, with light brown hair and pastel clothing. Perhaps it was a friend. A friend, a good friend. They hugged. Perhaps just a very good friend. They kissed. Perhaps not. He began to walk her inside and they talked, and he kissed her again. He must have said something to her to make her laugh, because I saw her do so, but his face was turned away from me. Then she said something to him.  
  
("Run.") Yet just before she said that word, she mouthed out: I love you.  
  
Now once again, I saw her lips form the words, saw them with my exceptional inhuman vision, and I knew that only distance kept me from hearing them. Yet they were not to me. They were to this man, and I knew that he replaced my spot in her heart. For the first time, the first time ever, I turned away, turned away from the two pastel beings in their pastel paradise, knowing that I was forgotten. I walked into a corner of my attic room, in the darkness, in the darkness away from the brightness of the day, and held my hands in front of me. I touched my hands to the wrist of the opposite side, together. My left blades to my right wrist, and my right blades to my left wrist. I felt tears roll down my face as I brought my two arms closer together, digging the scissors into my wrists.  
  
("You destroy everything that you touch!") Jim, in all of his hatefulness, was right about that.  
  
As I tried to cut off my hands with my hands, I felt weak. Tired. I looked down at what I was doing, and I saw blood. Human blood. My blood. A lot of it, lying on the floor by my feet. And on my hands. Just as when my father didn't wake up. There had been blood on my hands then. Now once again. My hands got weak, and I couldn't hardly move them closer together anymore. I looked out the window and saw the blue sky, the blue sky that belonged to the pastel city, not to me and my darkness. And that was the last thing that I saw before blackness.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
"You know, you are very beautiful," said Dane, the tanned figure in front of me. I giggled as I opened the door.  
  
"I love you," I told him light-heartidly, as I brought him close to me in a hug. But over his shoulder I looked up at the darkness of the castle, hoping to see a glimpse of him, the one the words were really meant for. And I did, but he was walking away from the roof's massive hole, out of sight. 


End file.
